


Fable of the Monkey's Paw

by wolfinyourbed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dean and Cas get some 'them' time, M/M, MCD, No HEA, Sam gets a dog, Sam goes back to college, Spitefic, Suptober (Supernatural), Suptober 2020 (Supernatural), Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural), Third Wheel Sam Winchester, Top Dean Winchester, Whumptober 2020, mention of Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26884006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfinyourbed/pseuds/wolfinyourbed
Summary: Dean and Cas need time alone. They get it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Fable of the Monkey's Paw

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is pulling triple-duty. It's a fill for Suptober20's prompt #8 "heartless", Whumptober20's prompt #8 "abandoned", as well as pushback against the long-suffering, third-wheel!Sam trope. Please be forewarned!

The windows of the Impala were hazy with steam; the October air clung chilly and damp to the outside, but inside, two bodies were doing their level best to create heat. Most of it was emanating from Dean, honestly—as angels didn't generate a lot of bodily functions unless done with willfully deliberation—and Cas was too busy giving Dean a hummer in the backseat to bother with such trivialities.

Dean howled, rough and giddy, as he came down the back of Cas' throat. And though Cas struggled a bit with the physicality of arousal (almost certainly a side-effect of his vessel having been rebuilt a thousand times), the intricate feelings of that sound did things to him he'd have never expected. Couldn't explain. Wouldn't deny or disown on his worst days.

He swallowed Dean down around a grin and smugness that curled Cas' toes. Which, if Cas took a moment to ponder, was the strangest expression of his love for Dean that his body autonomically did. Some days, his toes practically cramped with curling, but he wouldn't trade it for the world.

In the sweaty afterglow, Cas snugged himself tightly up under Dean's arm, just barely hanging on the edge of the bench seat. They'd rolled down a window, and Dean's skin bristled with gooseflesh under Cas' fingertips. The night sky was freckled with stars overhead. Some sort of nightbird trilled in the distance.

It was, no irony intended, divine.

“Think Doordash delivers out this far?” Dean's voice rumbled against Cas' cheek.

“I really don't,” Cas said on a chuckle.

“Well, shit. The HoHos in the glovebox are getting a little long in the tooth for my refined palate.”

“Sam probably stashed some granola bars in the trunk?” Cas drummed his fingers on Dean's chest, pondering. “Maybe we should order Doordash for Sam... ”

“Eh, Sam's a big boy. He told us to “Get a room, you two”, remember? Tired of being the ol' third wheel? Besides, he's got his dog and all that on-line collegeboy stuff to keep him busy. Excuse me, collegeMAN.”

“Too busy to eat, is my theory.”

“Yeah, well, maybe. Hey, we could send him fries and a Baconator—”

“Dean. He doesn't eat bacon.”

Dean snickered. He knew.

They'd been gone five days. The news had been nothing but doom and gloom and the president of the United States acting more the fool than usual, so this was a very welcomed respite. Even hunts had ebbed, what with the coronavirus keeping so many people indoors. They muted the phones and hit the road. Sam didn't need them making out on the war table when he was suffering through his virtual poly-sci class.

Eventually, sleep overcame Dean's hunger and his eyes drifted closed, lashes dark against the fairness of his face. Cas watched him for what must've been an hour. He could will his vessel to sleep if need be, but the night was peaceful and in this slender moment, Cas' world was untouchable. This is what he'd always wanted, but couldn't put a name to it until Dean finally … _finally_ … acted on the energy that'd been percolating between them for years. After that, it was full steam ahead, as the saying went. Oh-so-much steam.

Cas stared out the window until the stars faded and dawn bleached the sky, and the rhythm of Dean's soft snoring coaxed Cas into daydreams of gentle retirement and maybe, just maybe, Cas could convince God to make him human. His hair could get gray and he could grow old with Dean.

Hey, an angel could dream.

He must've drifted into earnest sleep because he found his eyes snapping open at the escalation in Dean's voice, distant enough to be outside the car. From the color of the light, it was still early.

“Kansas City General, got it. No, no, you did good, kid. It's not you. It's … never mind. Cas and I are heading back now.”

Cas levered himself out of the car, buttoning his shirt. The wind was kicking up and Dean had his free hand shoved into a pocket of his jeans as he grimaced into the phone. Cas canted his head in question, settling a hand on Dean's shoulder, but Dean pivoted away. He pushed a button then winged the phone across the prairie.

“Sam had a heart attack.”

“What? I thought you just said Sam had—”

“I did. He had a heart attack. He's 38 fucking years old and Jack says he had a heart attack. Jesus Christ, we've been fucking our way across the midwest and Sam has been in the hospital since, I dunno, Wednesday?”

The words froze on Cas' tongue. He had no clue what to say and even if he did, Dean wasn't in a place to hear it.

“For year, YEARS, we've been giving Sam shit for his 'delicate constitution' and his fussy eating habits and his indigestion and all this time it's been, I dunno, _heart disease_?”

He stomped back to the car, Cas on his tail. They were going to break the sound barrier heading to Kansas City, of this Cas was sure. There were precious few stops for food or gas, hardly a word exchanged between them, but Dean begrudgingly let Cas drive through the night when Dean was nodding off at the wheel and a hair's breadth from rear-ending a semi. Cas was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to repair them from that level of trauma.

They were roughly an hour out when Cas decided to break the silence. Foolish, but this had to be aired before they reached the hospital. “We didn't know. We couldn't have known.”

“How did you not know, Cas?” Dean said, dead-eyed. Which was far more stinging than any shout. “You've healed him. Did you miss something again, like when you dragged him back soulless?”

Cas forced a sigh. “You're mad. Go ahead, yell at me. If it makes you feel better.”

“Whose great idea was it to turn off the phones, huh?”

It was Cas'. Because he'd wanted Dean to himself, uninterrupted. Because if Sam weren't around, it would be the two of them, together, without Dean's mind wandering or Sam dodging out of a room awkwardly. No cause to be covert. There was no use in denying it, and the realization burned like a thousand tiny cuts from a holy blade. 

“I'll heal him when we get to the hospital.”

“You sure you can?” Dean bites out. “What's 'angel radio' saying?”

“You know I can't talk to Heaven anymore, or ask favors of them.”

“Then you'd better fucking hope we get to Sam in time.”

They were rounding the corner to the triage entrance of the hospital when Cas felt a wash of excitement from the aether, something he hadn't felt in a very long time. He couldn't tell one celestial voice from the next, or whether it was joy or fury, but he knew this much: that was Death walking through the sliding glass doors to the Emergency Room. She turned and gave them a rueful smile, a shake of her head. Cas could almost hear her clucking her tongue at them. She wanted to be seen.

Dean's eyes were as wide as silver dollars. 

And Cas thought to himself: maybe begging for eventual humanity wasn't such a brilliant endgame after all.


End file.
